"Oh, Peter! I will not leave you—lean on me there—there!" And, little by little, those strong, gentle hands drew me up once more to light and life. And so she got me to a chair, and brought cool water, and washed the blood and sweat from me, as she had once before, only now my hurts were deeper, for my head grew beyond my strength to support, and hung upon my breast, and my brain throbbed with fire, and the mist was ever before my eyes. "Are you in much pain, Peter?" "My head—only my head, Charmian—there is a bell ringing there, no—it is a hammer, beating." And indeed I remembered little for a while, save the touch of her hands and the soothing murmur of her voice, until I found she was kneeling beside me, feeding me with broth from a spoon. Wherefore I presently took the basin from her and emptied it at a gulp, and, finding myself greatly revived thereby, made some shift to eat of the supper she set before me. So she presently came and sat beside me and ate also, watching me at each morsel. "Your poor hands!" said she, and, looking down at them, I saw that my knuckles were torn and broken, and the fingers much swelled. "And yet," said Charmian, "except for the cut in your head, you are quite unmarked, Peter." "He fought mostly for the body," I answered, "and I managed to keep my face out of the way; but he caught me twice—once upon the chin, lightly, and once up behind the ear, heavily; had his fist landed fairly I don't think even you could have brought me back from those loathly depths, Charmian." And in a while, supper being done, she brought my pipe, and filled it, and held the light for me. But my head throbbed woefully and for once the tobacco was flavorless; so I sighed, and laid the pipe by. "Why, Peter!" said Charmian, regarding me with an anxious frown, "can't you smoke?" "Not just now, Charmian," said I, and leaning my head in my hands, fell into a sort of coma, till, feeling her touch upon my shoulder, I started, and looked up. "You must go to bed, Peter." "No," said I. "Yes, Peter." "Very well, Charmian, yes—I will go to bed," and I rose. "Do you feel better now, Peter?" "Thank you, yes—much better." "Then why do you hold on to the chair?" "I am still a little giddy—but it will pass." And "Charmian—you forgive—" "Yes—yes, don't—don't look at me like that, Peter—and—oh, good night!—foolish boy!" "I am—twenty-five, Charmian!" But as she turned away I saw that there were tears in her eyes. Dressed as I was, I lay down upon my bed, and, burying my head in the pillow, groaned, for my pain was very sore; indeed I was to feel the effects of George's fist for many a day to come, and it seems to me now that much of the morbid imaginings, the nightly horrors, and black despair, that I endured in the time which immediately followed, was chiefly owing to that terrible blow upon the head. CHAPTER XXI OF THE OPENING OF THE DOOR, AND HOW CHARMIAN BLEW OUT THE LIGHT